Some things change, but they haven't
by wikiaddicted723
Summary: Dick and Barbara solve some issues they left pending. A oneshot, dealing with the fear of being loved, with appearances by some of the bat family members.


"Nothing like a job well done, eh Babs?" said a cheery Stephenie Brown, as she stepped away from the _ricochet. _Barbara laughed, shaking her head, disconcert lining her tone, this girl reminded her of herself at that age just a bit… too much.

"Yeah, nothing quite like it…" she answered, her fingers flying across the keyboards, inserting codes that were meant to activate the tracking devices she'd installed on Dick and Damian's costumes, she had to make sure everyone came back alright, and _then_ it'd be a job well done.

"You shutting down for the night yet?" quipped Stephenie from the stairs leading up to the Batcave's showers. Bruce – correction, Alfred – did think of everything. They were staying at the manor for some time at Bruce's behest, since he considered it safer for them after the near – break – in from Ra's Al Ghul's League of Assassins, a couple of days past. Barbara was only too happy to comply, that one little attempt had been close, _real_ close; had Batman and Robin not been after them both Wendy and herself would now be cold marble memorials on Bruce's death row.

"Not yet, no…I'll wait for the boys to come home." Barbara replied, her voice echoing in the darkness around her, the only other sounds being the click – click – click of her fingers against the keyboards and the distant rush of water from the showers.

"You always do!" shouted Stephenie above the roar of the water cascading around her. God, did it feel good to take a hot shower after patrol! It helped clear her head of the viciousness and the cruelty of Gotham's streets, and of the very – handsome – looks of one unattainable Nick Gage, GCPD detective extraordinaire. She still had homework to do. Damn.

Barbara sighed, yes, she always did. Somehow, she was always waiting for them to come home, for _him_ to come home. She opened the "garage" before Dick even thought of voice commanding it to do so, as they neared the cave, back form a run in with Diesel over at Devil's square. They dismounted the batmobile and she saw Damian run over to the showers himself, a tired look etched on his face, she marveled at how he looked so much like Bruce at that moment. A pair of strong, ungloved hands on her shoulders distracted her from her reverie and she looked up to see Dick following her gaze towards Damian's retreating form.

"He's so much like Bruce it's frightening…" he said in his deep baritone, shuddering.

_Did you just read my mind, Grayson?_

Barbara shook her head, attracting his attention to her intent gaze. He smiled warmly at her, making her fight the longing building up in her chest, she had to stop this in it's tracks before she found herself inviting disaster once more, things between them just couldn't be, and she had to face it. She rolled away from him and turned, a mischievous glint taking root in her eyes.

"What, short - pants, does the ten – inch, ten – year - old "wonder" intimidate you now?" she said to him, watching him raise his eyebrows at her, a smirk forming itself in his handsome features.

"I didn't mean alike in the intimidating department, I meant that I want to slap him every ten seconds or so." He took her bait.

" Then you're wrong, and he's more like_ you_ than you think…" she smiled

"Yeah? And why would that be? It's not like I'd like to slap myself every ten seconds…I like me."

_I like you too…so much that it makes me hate you…and me…sometimes._

"No, hunk wonder_, I'd_ like to slap you every ten seconds" she replied, rolling around him and keying in the shut – down passwords for the supercomputer in the keyboards.

"Well, I suppose if it's you doing the slapping I could always turn the other cheek." He said. It was astounding to her, the way they could set themselves in this bantering routine so easily, so comfortably. She chose not to respond, and rolled away from him instead, she could use something warm to fill her stomach right now.

" Do you think the kids are done in the showers?" he asked, she could feel his presence behind her, hovering. She strained her ears for the sound of rushing water in the darkness. She found none.

"I think so, why?" she said looking back at him, he ran a hand through his black hair, a habit he'd gotten as a kid… a long time ago.

" 'Cause then it's _my turn_ to hit the showers" he said and kissed her on the corner of her mouth before rushing to the showers, preventing her from making a comeback. Not that she _could_ come up with anything right now, as she stared in shock after him, raising a hand to touch the spot he'd kissed. She could still feel him there.

She sighed and kept rolling away from the batcave and into the manor, all appetite gone from her, and she wandered through its corridors, remembering how it had been when they'd all been younger, when she'd been able to dance and run and kick criminals in the teeth, when she'd let herself be enfolded by warm hands and caresses and fleeting kisses between dark, shady alleys. She wiped a runaway tear from her eyes as she stopped in front of a door she knew well. She'd not intended for her wandering to take her here, not consciously at least, but here she was, in front of Richard Grayson's bedroom. The door was only half closed, and she pushed it open to reveal an empty room, the bed made up so tight you could bounce a nickel off it, obviously Alfred's work. She turned the lights on from the switch beside the door and rolled herself inside, smelling his scent everywhere, inspecting the little trinkets he kept here and there, the newspaper articles strewn across his desk, it all spoke of him, of warmth and hope and strength. But nothing spoke to her of him more than the object her eyes found sitting on the table beside his bed. It was a portrait of his parents as they had been before they were murdered, sitting on the circus' trapeze, holding each other, and looking somewhere off to their right, the object of their attention unknown, but whatever it was it had put a smile on both their faces. But it wasn't that what made a small sob escape her lips. Taped on the border of the metallic portrait was a photo strip, of a boy who'd just become a man and a woman beside him, in the pictures they laughed, and made faces, and on the last one she could see the boy, no, the man, kissing the woman on the cheek as she smacked him on the head playfully.

"She was beautiful, you know…still is." Dick said softly, as he leaned against the doorframe, clad in nothing but gray sweatpants and a towel that was slung across his shoulders, absorbing the last few drops of water that remained on his curly black hair. Somehow, she wasn't surprised of seeing him there, but as hard as she tried she couldn't make herself look at him.

"I'm sure she was," Barbara said, just as softly, " she was your mother." She could feel his steps on the wooden floor as he came by her and put his hand beneath her chin, making her look at him.

"I'm not talking about my mother, Barbara." He said seriously, putting the portrait back in the table. She looked away from him, hurting.

"Yes, she _was_ beautiful." She said dryly, pulling his hand away from her face.

He sighed and ran his hands through his hair, frustrated.

"You know what the difference between her and you is, Babs?" he asked, his voice quieter than usual. He saw her ball her hands into fists and the muscles in her neck tense slightly.

"Off course, I have to _live_ with it, Dick" she said brokenly, slapping her hands against her wheelchair, trying to hold on to whatever strength she had as the tears threatened to overwhelm her. He shook his head and kneeled in front of her, taking her hands and weaving his fingers with hers.

"That's not what I meant," he said, searching her eyes, "she smiled more Babs, she was _always_ smiling and whenever she did it lit her eyes, because she felt it. She felt like smiling. You don't smile any more …not like that, you smile out of pity, or sadness, or because you feel you have to, to put me at ease…but it's almost like you feel no joy, and I think..." he swallowed and licked his lips, as if he were nervous, "I think it's because you're not letting yourself feel at all." he finished, and wiped the tears that had fallen, unbidden, from her eyes with rough, calloused fingers, she turned her face into his hand, allowing herself to breath him in, but retreated from his touch after a moment, she couldn't be weak, she could let _him_ be weak for her, never again, she'd made a promise to herself, and she intended to keep it.

"Why do you always do this? Why do you always shut me out?" he asked, desperate.

"Because you make me weak, Dick, because you make me feel like everything's fine when it's not…and I can't be weak, not again. I couldn't bear to see my hopes crushed before my eyes again."

"That's pathetic…it's another pathetic excuse Barbara, and you know it" he said, angry now, his hands in his lap, fisted, the towel long discarded on the floor.

"_Pathetic?_ I'm afraid of coming home one day and finding you gone because you just can bear to be with a cripple anymore, or…or dead and cold in the streets, and you say I'm pathetic!" she shouted at him, rolling away, towards the door. He stood up and grabbed the chair from behind, stilling her forcefully.

"Don't go…" he asked her, pleaded with her.

"Don't. You. Dare." She spat at him, slapping his hands away, making him step in front of her, bracing himself against the door.

"Move, Grayson." She ordered coldly. He didn't move an inch.

"No."

"I said _move, _or are you deaf as well as stupid?" she said.

"You're not going anywhere." He said in his best Batman voice.

"Listen, Richard – "

"No! You listen!" he said, beating on the door with his fists, " you're not going to do this to me, to yourself, just because you're _scared _that it might not work. You've never been a coward Barbara, that's supposed to be me, so don't you start now."

He was faintly pleased to notice that she had nothing to say to that, so he kept on, because as they said, when you're going through hell, you _keep going_.

" You are my greatest weakness Barbara…" he saw the look in her eyes, the recognition, because she thought so herself, "…but that doesn't mean you're not my greatest strength. I've told you I love you so many times I'm guessing you're tired of hearing it, because you don't seem to think I'm serious when I say it, you seem to think I'm not serious about anything, including you, because apparently I don't know myself enough to know how I feel about you, so the only thing I've got left for you to finally listen to me is to _show_ you." No sooner had he finished speaking had he picked her up from her chair and carried her to his bed, kicking the door softly, leaving it slightly ajar, he set her down softly as she slapped his hands away from her feebly, still not knowing what to say, _if_ she could get herself to push words through the lump that had formed in her throat. He pressed his hand on her cheek and made her look at him, rubbing his nose against hers, as they used to do when he was just a kid and she was just his baby – sitter, barely a teenager herself. He pressed their foreheads together then.

"Don't leave me alone…" he breathed more than said, pressing his lips softly against hers, asking for permission. She was still for a moment, but she realized there was nothing in the world that she could ever want more than his love, she pressed back against him, giving him what he wanted. What she wanted. He grabbed the back of her head then, deepening the kiss, pouring himself out to her, and she answered gladly. He picked her up and slid them upwards on the bed, sliding his hands slowly up and down her sides, until they came to rest softly on the hem of her shirt, he broke the kiss then, breathing hard, and looked her in the eye as he slid his hands beneath the shirt, pulling it up painstakingly slowly across her body. She shivered at the feather - like contact his fingertips made against her skin but did not protest to his actions, raising her hands to play with the hair at the nape of his neck, making soft patterns on his neck and shoulders with her hands. He went back to kissing her, and as he held the shirt up to her arms she pushed herself up and raised them so that he could throw the garment away from her. The Bra followed soon after; as did his sweat pants and her own khakis. He bent his head then, and nibbled on her ear lobe, making her gasp, after all this time, he still remembered what made her tick. He continued his trail down her body, kissing her neck, her collarbones, the valley between her breasts, and down bellow her belly button, he stopped then, swallowing hard, and traced a hand across the puckered, silvery flesh of the bullet's entrance wound, his other hand fisting on the sheets so hard his knuckles popped, anger bubbling up from his chest at his impotence. He looked up and saw her looking away, unshed tears glistening in her eyes, this was what she was afraid of, he thought then, rejection. He shook his head – he'd never do that to her for something like this, not for anything really, he'd loved her since he'd been nine, and he wasn't about to stop – he dipped his head back down and kissed the scar, feeling her head moving as she looked at him wide eyed, releasing a breath she didn't know she was holding. She closed her eyes then, overwhelmed by the flurry of emotion he was causing her, she slid her fingers through his hair and brought his head up to kiss him, feeling his hands making senseless patterns on her hips, playing with the waistband of her underwear. They were both breathing raggedly now, and she could see him straining against his boxers. She pulled at his hair lazily, making him look up at her.

"Just take them _off_," she told him, her chest heaving, as she slipped her fingers into the waistband of his underwear.

" Yes, ma'am." He managed to get out between gasps as she stretched the silky material on his hips and released it, letting it slap back against him. He proceeded to do as he was asked, raising himself away from her, and peeling the cloth from his body with all the artistry of a striptease dancer.

"Tease" she ground out at him, laughing, remembering how much worse he'd been when they'd been younger. To which he responded by helping her raise her hips and unceremoniously throwing her panties to the other end of the room, " You have no idea," he growled in her ear as she saw them hit his desk lamp from the corner of her eye before he went back to distracting her in very …_creative _ways.

Stephenie was tired of walking around. She'd been looking for Barbara all over the place, trying to get her to help her in the eternally long and complicated computer science homework, and had not found her anywhere she'd looked…which was mostly everywhere. She'd gone down to the batcave again and found nothing, gone to the kitchen to find Alfred washing some dishes, been to Damian's room – Ugh – just to discard it and got swiftly kicked out, literally. Went to the library, which was bigger than the University's, and still found, nothing. She didn't know where to look anymore.

_It's as if she's hiding on purpose, which I wouldn't put beneath her_

And then, as she walked up the stairs to her room, completely giving up on her search, she saw a light coming from Dick's room, the one place she'd not ventured to – They still acted weird around each other, Babs and him – and like divine inspiration, she though of asking him, he was obviously in, if she was to judge by the looks of the slightly open door and the light streaming out from it. She approached carefully, looking in before she knocked and was greeted by a sight she wasn't going to forget anytime soon.

Barbara had her mouth pressed against his black, curly hair, holding his head against her neck with one hand; her own fiery red tresses fanning out on the pillows beneath her, as he showered her with fluttering kisses and lazy caresses all over her body, their entwined figures writhing on the bed, chests heaving up and down with the effort.

Stephenie had to kick herself away from the door; a hand clapping her mouth to avoid making any sounds that might alert the otherwise rather _occupied _couple of her presence. Oh, well, she'd have to fail computer science miserably. But then again, all was possible when Babs was in a good mood so she might as well pray for Dick not to do anything _she_ might regret later. For the time being though, he was doing incredibly well.

Alfred was worried. Only young Master Damian had come down for supper at the established time, and Alfred liked sticking to established times, as everything else happening around him seemed to have a flexibility in the schedule department. Miss Brown had told him she'd be doing her homework, which was a boatload, in her own words, and asked him if he could bring supper to her room. He'd said yes, off course. The young Miss was a too much like Miss Barbara at her age, for Alfred to deny her anything. He was, in the end, a nostalgic old man, he though at he knocked briefly on Master Richard's door and opened it without seeking a response, the young man tended to fall asleep during supper time if Alfred gave him the chance, and the lights were down.

He was met by Dick's shushing finger to his lips as he lay on his side behind Barbara's sleeping form, a hand supporting his head.

"She just fell asleep," Dick whispered quietly, pleading Alfred to be silent. Alfred simply nodded and retreated from the room.

"Thanks, Alfie," he heard Master Richard whisper as he closed the door behind him.

"You're always welcome Master Richard, " Alfred whispered back, a small smile on his lips. Things might, after all, be alright.


End file.
